Parallel Lines
by ephermalDalliance
Summary: If the circumstances were different, if the dangers were changed, if their lives were rewritten, would there still be a Sherlock and John? James Moriarty wants to play a game, of supernatural proportions. Slight Johnlock.
1. Gentle Tappings and Biting

_He's arriving today.  
>- R <em>

_I know, I'm ready.  
>- JM <em>

_I can't wait to take a bite out of him!  
>- JM <em>

* * *

><p>"Alright, John. Today is the big day," his Mother said, driving her son to the private school that would become his home for the next four years. She glanced at her rear view mirror, to see her son silently tapping his leg to the classical music playing on the radio. As usual, her son was actually miles away, his eyes blank. Whether he was dancing to jazz in New Orleans or admiring Chinese tea, he was never in England. She cleared her throat and continued, "They have nice rooms there at the school. Everything is clean and tidy. The teachers are pretty good too, made sure to do background checks on all faculty, not a single speck of dirt. Your studies will be good there."<p>

"That's nice," John replied quietly. He changed his slouching position and sat upright on his seat since Dad would have scolded him if he slumped, always said it kept you short and stout.

They arrived at the Wakefield Private School, and its tall buildings intimidating all below it. It was full of intellectuals, he could feel the majesty of the school as the car entered its parking lot, and as of now he had to keep up with expectations as a Wakefield boy. He felt the twinge of a smile on his face. At least he would have some freedom being in this magnificent boarding school, maybe make a friend or two and have a close knit group of friends. Yes, it was just what he needed—

"John, help me with your bags. You can daydream later."

The headmaster at Wakefield greeted the Watsons with the best fake smile he could muster, and introduced himself as John Hardwick. Hardwick and his Mother laughed and smiled at each other, each exchanging polite conversation with one another. Hardwick was a friend of his Father, although "friend" would be really stretching what nature of their true relationship.

"General Watson still has that mean old voice of his?" Hardwick joked, glancing at the clock once in a while.

"He's still as tough as ever, John," she replied with a smile. She turned around to her son. "Didn't mean you, dearie."

John smiled back. "Of course not, Mother."

"Such a good boy," Hardwick commented. "How old are you, lad?"

"Sixteen years old, sir. My birthday was two weeks ago."

"Charming," the headmaster replied. "Time to complete the paperwork so it'll be done and ready to go, Clara. We have to set your son up with a 'roommate', as the boys call board mates these days."

"I thought there would be some individual rooms, John," she said, her smile now a tight line across her face.

"Those privileges are left to the graduating class and for an extra fee," he replied, "If we let the lower class of students, freshmen and sophomores, to have their own rooms, they would have those terrible parties. The more mature and sophisticated junior and senior year students deserve more room to concentrate and stress for their bright futures ahead of them."

"Alright then, let's carry out with the paperwork," she replied. Clara Watson, as usual, was not quite satisfied. "Stay here, John. Read your novels in your bag if you wish."

Two hours and an interesting 135 pages later, Clara Watson and Hardwick finally exited the office, with Hardwick holding a stack of papers secured with a large black clip.

"Well John, Mr. Hardwick says he's gotten everything taken care of. People will escort you to your new room, and you'll meet your 'roommate' there," Clara quickly explained. She glanced at the clock, 10:15 AM. "Your Father should be done with his surgery now. I must get going. I'll write to you every week. It'll be like we never separated."

Clara kissed her son on the forehead and left after saying a cheerful goodbye to Mr. Hardwick. After the short and fat John Hardwick waved back, he turned to the young lad beside him.

"Molly should be escorting you, Watson. I'll be in my office."

And with that, Hardwick went back to his office, slamming the door.

_Jolly old fellow, _John thought.

"Are you John H. Watson?"

John turned around to see a girl his age. She was a little shorter than him, and had large brown eyes and a pale face, with straight hair in a neat ponytail. She wore some lipstick, perhaps she was trying to catch someone's attention, John noted. "Hello there, I'm John."

"Very well then, let's get started."

John rolled his luggage across the administration building and into the dorms' location, with Molly's fast explanations as commentary.

"You must be thinking, 'Why is there a girl here?', well if you weren't thinking that, then I suppose I should explain since that is what guides do, right? Explain? I work for the office on weekends. I help with the paperwork sometimes, file the medical reports once in a while. My Mother is the biotechnology and toxicology professor here, and sometimes I like to help her with experiments," Molly said as fast as she could, twiddling with her hair. "Am I boring you? I am sorry if I am, I can't help but be excited when we get new students here. You look... really kind, after all."

"You barely know me, Molly," John replied quietly. "It's not good to make assumptions so fast."

"I know. Doesn't mean I'm not entitled to an opinion, especially if it's a fact, John."

The two approached finally approached the room he was to stay in, room 225B. Second floor, second corridor, fifth room, right side. Molly explained that boarding was a little complex in Wakefield, but you would learn to navigate the rooms soon enough. She told him that he was lucky to have only one other person living with him, as the people in the first floor were in groups of threes and fours.

"You're a fortunate person," Molly noted. The two were still standing in front of the room, and John was still spacing out from her long intricate explanations, but like instinct, he came around when something important was about to happen. "Although I have to warn you, the person you'll be living with is a little—"

_"Handsome?"_

Molly and John turned around to see a tall, lean boy. His face was pale, but his eyes looked almost like the night, cold but inviting. He wore a smirk on his face, and leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. He was wearing a well-tailored suit and red tie, and his shoes looked so well-polished that John could see his own reflection.

Molly took a step back. "Wouldn't really quite agree with you there."

"I beg to differ," he said calmly. He walked towards her and laid his hands softly on her shoulders. "You're wearing the same lipstick you wore that night we snuck out into the field. I remember that distinct shade of red. You buy it at the outlet mall three miles away from here, close to your home. However, you're wearing tennis shoes, something you wouldn't even dare to put on. It looks a little worn. Perhaps you walk to the outlet mall and rush back before mummy notices. Although I must applaud you, Molly, it looks pretty, and very cheap. Cheap enough for you to afford it with your own pocket money, I suppose. Don't want to worry mummy about boys and lipstick."

He then leaned forward and whispered into her ear, "You've been trying to impress him for weeks since the semester started. You haven't made much progress, so I reckon that you give up before someone tells Professor Hooper that you use tongue."

Molly gulped. The tall boy was satisfied with her reaction; he knew he always got in spot on. The poor girl was like a picture book, her eyes told you everything. He kissed her lightly on the forehead to add to his victory, and he saw a faint but distinct blush against her cheeks.

_Bashful as ever, how cute, _he noted.

"You're not going to hurt me again, James. I'll make sure of it," Molly threatened, glaring at the boy with an intense hatred. "I'll make sure you don't hurt them either."

"Them?" he asked. "Wow, I never knew you could become so interesting."

"You can go rot in Hell," she spat. Molly turned around to see John, looking straight at them, probably wondering what on earth they were talking about. She said in her sweetest voice, "I think you'll be fine with him here, now. Call me if you have any trouble. The Directory book is right next to the bedside table, every student and staff member is listed there."

Molly left John Watson and the tall boy behind, walking as fast as she could out of the area. She felt her heart racing at the fear of the danger brewing. She needed to act quick, before that monster rips them to shreds with his teeth.

John stared at the mysterious boy, how he analyzed Molly Hooper just from her lipstick. He wondered if they were friends, of if they dated once in the past. The latter must be correct. The boy had this certain atmosphere, almost as though his mere presence could reel you in but crush your insides the moment he was dissatisfied, but it still managed to reel you in.

"Forgive me, John. I was hung up with Molly," the boy said, turning around to see John staring at him in a mixture of admiration and fear. The boy took out his hand from his pocket. "Nice to meet you, I'm James Moriarty. Call me Jim if you'd like."

"Alright," John said, "Jimmy."

"I see you are a man of humor. I like that. Please come inside, make yourself at home," Moriarty said, rolling John's luggage inside their room. "Although I have to warn you, I bite a little."


	2. The Lion and the Raven

**A/N: **_I'm amazed that I've gotten so much inspiration for making this happen, so many ideas flowing in my head. Also, I have added another scene to the first chapter, so it wouldn't hurt to look back and read it._

* * *

><p>"Excuse me?"<p>

"What?" Jim grinned. "Have a sense of humor; it keeps your soul alive and running."

"Oh, I didn't mean it that way," John apologized. He felt a flush of embarrassment across his cheeks. "I'm not too used to fooling around much at home."

"It's alright, little brother. Can I call you that, 'little brother'? It has a nice ring to it," Jim said excitedly as he hurled John's luggage on top of what was to be John's bed. "I always wanted a brother, a younger brother that I could nurture, guide, and protect."

John quickly glanced about the room. Single window and two twin sized beds on opposite walls took up much of the eye's view of 225B. Between them was a small and old fashioned bedside table with one lamp. On Jim's side of the room there was a large bookcase filled with books of various sizes, and as John carefully noted, of a particularly large size.

_As expected, educated, _John thought. _Somebody one shouldn't underestimate. Or maybe... a pseudo-intellectual? _

"I'm so sorry if I'm taking up all of the space in the room, Little Brother. The damn bastards should be spending money on constructing larger rooms than spending it all on importing Chinese tea," Jim said sourly, "It's their attempt at exposing us Brits to proper culture. Depriving us with shots of culture, isn't that funny?"

"Maybe they wanted to keep the place as is to maintain some sort of tradition. Change can be very jarring."

"But changes keep things _interesting. _I like changes to the game, it makes you want to play more!"

"I suppose you're right, Jim," John quietly reasoned. He took notice of the papers spread all across Jim's bed, with messy words over them in black men and numerous cross outs.

"Please, don't look at that!" Jim yelled, "It's a children's story I'm working on for the Wakefield Library's Children's Literature Competition. Whoever wins gets their story published. And I'm sorry, Little Brother, but even a nice and earnest guy like you can't be allowed to snoop over my ideas."

"I hadn't realized you were a writer! I'm so sorry for being so rude," John apologized again. He noticed another pattern in their conversation. Jim talking, him apologizing. Was this the way of the elite and the normal?

"Don't feel so bad about it, Little Brother! I know you meant no harm. Well, you're a nice guy, I'll let you read the first page," Jim quickly handed John a piece of paper that looked neat compared to the others.

"They're the only pair of lines that I'm satisfied with. I didn't show anybody because of all of the plagiarism going around these days, the scandals and accusations of plagiarism here... too much to bare. But my Little Brother wouldn't betray me, right?"

Moriarty then let out a hearty laugh, and John felt compelled to laugh as well, as if he were commanded to. As John laughed nervously, his eyes skimmed quickly through the paper, taking in the large black print on the paper.

_The Lion and the Raven played all day  
>everyone happy, in a saccharine daze<br>the two were happy friends and were so close  
>that everyone knew that whom they loved the most.<em>

"This is pretty good, Jim," remarked John. "Reminds me of the poetry my sister used to write to me every day back when we went to school together. Where's the rest?"

"I don't know what to do next, Little Brother. What else is in store for the Lion and the Raven, I don't know," sighed Jim, "So many opportunities."

"It'll be fine, Jim," replied John, patting his new friend on the back. "Just tell me what happens to them. I like a good story."

"I'll tell you as soon as it happens."

* * *

><p><em>How is your story going?<em>

_- R_

_It's going fine. He loves it. That's what matters.  
>- JM<em>

_What do you hope to accomplish from this?  
>- R<em>

_I want to make sure it won't be fiction for too long.  
>- JM<em>

_We'll see if you're a true writer.  
>- R<em>

James Moriarty resisted the urge to laugh, but he knew that it wasn't the time. The clock read five o'clock in the morning, and it was so quiet that when Moriarty closed his eyes to relish the situation at hand, he could hear the distant sounds of pencil or pen writing on paper. Poor students finishing papers due for their classes tomorrow, he assumed.

He looked back at the boy that now slept on the other side of the room. How he slept, as stiff as a statue as James quietly observed for the past few hours. But the expression on his face as he slept, the softened expression of innocence, made him smile at the thought of what he was going to them. _Them. _That wouldn't exist anymore, as long as he planned everything right.

Jim quietly got up from his bed and walked to John's side. He grazed his finger against his John's open palm. Soft and warm, those were two words that explained Watson's appeal. Loyal and honest were two others that could be used. Perhaps John Watson would be too good to lose entirely.

* * *

><p>Molly Hooper resisted the beckoning of her bed and looked at the homework set before her. She didn't realize how pre-occupied she was with helping out her Mother on her study on poisons, everything was just so fascinating, but now…<p>

She looked at her studies in disgust. She wasn't interested in making any ten page essay on the significance of traditional literature or expressing feelings during the French Revolution by creating a song on the piano. Sometimes she wished that she were allowed to study in Wakefield, with all of the other boys looking forward for a career in science or in law.

Speaking of Wakefield, she thought of John H. Watson, how earnest looking he was. Normally the boys would push her away at her chattering, but he stuck with her and was polite. He was just another reminder that there were some good souls out there that wouldn't hurt her. She knew that it wasn't healthy in the first place to think of boys so negatively, but she knew the cause of all of that hatred.

James "Jim" Moriarty, the boy that kissed her so sweetly and then used her.

Molly made sure to turn around and make sure the door was closed, as her Mother liked to peek in to make sure she was actually working on homework at this hour and not sleeping on her desk with the light on. When she saw that she had locked the door and that there was no possible way of her getting in unless she fumbled about for the keys, Molly Hooper was safe.

Taking out her phone, she texted a simple request.

_Please don't hurt him.  
>Molly<em>

James Moriarty had a way of hurting others as he pleased, whenever they stopped being interesting or if they had outlived their purpose. Maybe now she had the opportunity to save someone from that fate. She looked at the clock; it was five o'clock in the morning. She was supposed to wake up an hour later. Molly let out a disappointed sigh at her unproductive behavior earlier in the weekend and continued on her work, and wondered who else was up at this hour.

* * *

><p>It was five o'clock in the morning, but time held no importance to him. The experiment in front of him did require his attention. Tonight he wondered over the possibility of how the brain was to look in a cadaver dead for over a year. It was a messy process this time; everything was pushed aside hastily to make room for his work. He should thank her and her Mother for supplying him with these cadavers.<p>

He closed his eyes. This was starting to get a little boring after an hour of work by slowly trimming their hair and making the incision. School was entering its third week already, and already he had made many enemies. Of course he didn't care much for what they said or what they were to do, but it was going to be a problem if they were to get in his way. A big problem indeed.

He contemplated about throwing the body away before the sun rose as he always did, but before he rose from his seat, his phone vibrated.

_66sixnine2four  
>- R<em>

_Don't disappoint me, Holmes.  
>- R <em>

Sherlock Holmes felt his eyes widen in his excitement, his heartbeat accelerated, the passion flowing in his veins. It was going to be an interesting stay in Wakefield after all, maybe he shouldn't have yelled at Mycroft for buying him a smart phone as a Christmas gift to upstage his crudely made card.


End file.
